


just to tempt fate

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's difficult being in love with an Auror. Especially one with no regards for his own safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just to tempt fate

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [AU prompt meme](http://kiyala.tumblr.com/post/96342034971) I'm doing on tumblr for #10. wizard AU where one accidentally apparates into the wrong house

Combeferre is furious. His shoulders are shaking with anger as he walks, his fists clenched, and it takes one look at him for people to realise that he's on a warpath, quickly moving out of his way lest they be caught up in it. His footsteps are loud against the tiles as he makes his way to the hospital beds used most commonly for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Aurors might not have beds reserved for them at St Mungos, but there are some that seem to always be in use by them anyway. 

He's glad that the section is quiet. There are no Healers around and any official debriefing must have been done already, because Combeferre doesn't see any Ministry officials either. Courfeyrac looks up at his footsteps and immediately pales, shrinking in on himself. Combeferre is certain that he'd run if he could, if both of Courfeyrac's legs weren't broken, and that brings him right back to the fact that he's absolutely livid.

"I got a known criminal arrested today," Courfeyrac says, before Combeferre can open his mouth. "We've been hunting him down for months. He was using the Imperius curse on _children_ , for Merlin's sake. You can be as angry as you want. I'm not sorry."

Combeferre sucks in a sharp breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, just under his glasses. "Not helping, Courfeyrac."

"Well, I'm not." 

"Do you know what they told me?" Combeferre paces the narrow space beside Courfeyrac's bed. "I was in my laboratorium and they sent an Auror-in-training to let me know that you'd decided to single-handedly take on one of the most wanted criminals in the wizarding world. She mentioned that you were ambushed by his five bodyguards. With no back up."

"I survived."

"She failed to mention that," Combeferre snaps, turning around so that he's facing Courfeyrac. "Not until I'd already assumed otherwise. Do you know what it's like, Courfeyrac, to live in constant fear of the day that a Ministry official approaches me to let me know that you've…"

"I didn't." Courfeyrac's expression softens, the stubbornness giving way to something far more understanding. "It wasn't the smartest decision I've made, I'll admit that. But I saw my chance, and I took it. I managed to get him into a full body bind before he could get away."

Combeferre shakes his head. "With _only_ two broken legs in return."

"They'll heal. It was worth it, even if it means I'm off the field for a while."

With a sigh, Combeferre pulls a phial out of his pocket and presses it into Courfeyrac's hands. "I'm so angry at you. Just so we're clear."

"What's this?" Courfeyrac asks, looking at the deep green potion, but he knows better than to expect a proper answer. Combeferre doesn't quite work for the Ministry, but does medical research for them. At school, he'd been better at Potions than their professor. Now, his skills have far surpassed anything that would—or should—be taught in classrooms. 

"If they have any sense, they'll keep you out of the field for a while anyway," Combeferre mutters, turning to leave. "But that potion should do a hell of a lot more than dull the pain while your bones heal. It might hurt, but probably no worse than getting your legs broken in the first place."

"…Thank you."

Combeferre doesn't turn around before he leaves, because his resolve has always been weak when it comes to Courfeyrac. He _wants_ to be angry for a while. He needs to be, until his heart stops pounding, until he's managed to reassure himself that no, Courfeyrac isn't _actually_ dead. His heart is still a little broken from it and that might be his fault, not Courfeyrac's, but he needs time to piece it back together all the same.

He needs time and… well, Courfeyrac needs to wait until the potion does its work anyway.

:·:

By the time Combeferre gets home that evening, he's still angry. He's exhausted and has spent most of his afternoon irritable and snappish when approached by his colleagues. The worst part is that it's not even Courfeyrac's fault. The fault lies solely with Combeferre and if anything, it only irritates him even more.

His schoolboy crush on Courfeyrac should have stayed as nothing more than that. It should have been left behind, somewhere within the walls of Hogwarts _years_ ago. Instead, it's followed him into his adult life. Being half in love with the Head Boy as a teenager was one thing. Being completely in love with his best friend, the Auror with no regard for his own safety, is something else entirely and more than a little unpleasant.

They've known each other for years and in that time, Courfeyrac has stated on multiple occasions that he knows both Combeferre and Enjolras better than anyone else, that there are no secrets between them. If that's true, it means that Courfeyrac has been politely ignoring Combeferre's feelings since—well, the Yule Ball back when they were thirteen. There's only one reason Courfeyrac would be doing that, and it's not something Combeferre likes to dwell on for long, because it hurts too much.

The problem here, Combeferre muses, is him. _He's_ the one in love with Courfeyrac, despite his best efforts to push his feelings away. He's the one who fears the worst when he hears about injured Aurors. He's the one whose mind keeps taking him back to those horrible few seconds when he thought that Courfeyrac was dead, that any light in his life was extinguished. 

Combeferre needs a strong drink and some company. He can find both of these things at Enjolras' house, where he has an open invitation to drop by any time, just the same as he and Courfeyrac do at Combeferre's apartment.

He apparates because it's faster, shutting his eyes and sighing heavily. "Enjolras, the man I love nearly got himself killed today. I need to drink enough firewhiskey that I stop thinking about it."

"Um," says a voice that definitely isn't Enjolras.

Combeferre opens his eyes to confirm his fears. "Well, shit."

Courfeyrac attempts a smile, but it turns into a concerned frown. "You meant to apparate to Enjolras' place, but you ended up here? You've never apparated wrong before."

"I was thinking about you," Combeferre replies, because that's the only explanation he can find. "Good to see you walking again. I assume the potion did its job, then."

"Oh." Courfeyrac looks down at himself, wiggling his feet a little. "It did. I wasn't sure you wanted to see me, so I sent someone to let you know, and to thank you."

Combeferre flushes, realising he must have waved the messenger off in his bad mood. "It's not that I didn't want to see you. I did apparate here by accident, after all."

"Because you were thinking of me," Courfeyrac says uncertainly.

"Yes."

"And the man you love, who nearly got himself killed today…"

Combeferre laughs hollowly, because of course Courfeyrac caught that. Of course he's not going to let it go. "Do I know anyone else who nearly got himself killed today?"

Courfeyrac blinks at him for a moment as he processes this. In a small voice, he replies, "I guess not."

So they're having this conversation. With a sigh, Combeferre sits down in his usual armchair by the fireplace, watching as Courfeyrac sits opposite him. 

They're both silent for a long time, and it's Courfeyrac who clears his throat first. "Do you remember that time four months ago, when that witch Enjolras was hunting hexed him so badly that he lost all his energy? No matter how much he rested or how much he ate, it just wouldn't do anything…"

Combeferre isn't quite sure where Courfeyrac is going with this, but he nods anyway. Of course he remembers. He was the one who first came up with a potion to keep Enjolras' energy from depleting entirely, so he could at least sit up, or walk around with assistance. He was the one who spent an entire week buried in his work to find a way to remove the hex. Courfeyrac would know, because he's the only reason Combeferre took breaks to eat, drink or sleep during that time.

"You weren't panicked then," Courfeyrac murmurs. "You weren't _angry_ with Enjolras, the way you were with me today." 

"That was an entirely different situation," Combeferre argues. "Enjolras had back up. He didn't put himself in a position where something could have happened to him without anyone around to help or even notice. He didn't nearly _die_ , Courfeyrac."

"He was in St Mungo's for a week. People thought was going to."

"People who don't understand the first thing about hexes," Combeferre dismisses. "Hexes can be fixed."

"You fixed me too," Courfeyrac points out, tapping his foot against Combeferre's.

"If they killed you, I wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it. No matter how hard I tried."

Courfeyrac's expression softens. "We're Aurors. Things might not be as bad now as they were in the time of the Dark Lord, but there are still people out there throwing Unforgivable Curses around. We still risk our lives. You know that."

"I do, trust me. I'm well aware of the risks you're both taking every single time you go out on a field mission. I know to prepare for the worst, but I assume that you don't court danger while you're out there. I expect you not to run head-first into things and make yourself a target."

"You're still angry with me," Courfeyrac says quietly.

"I'm _upset_ , Courfeyrac. I'm upset because I thought you were dead today. It doesn't matter that it was only for a couple of seconds. _I thought you died_ and not even seeing you here right in front of me can make that feeling disappear entirely."

Bowing his head with thought, Courfeyrac reaches across to squeeze Combeferre's hand gently. "I'm sorry. I was being rash. I didn't think."

"Well." Combeferre slowly turns his hand around so his palm is against Courfeyrac's. "Please don't do that again. I don't think my heart could take it."

Courfeyrac links their fingers together, and Combeferre shuts his eyes. He knows that Courfeyrac has always been a tactile person. He's physically affectionate with everyone and this isn't the first time they've held hands. There can only be one reason for Courfeyrac changing the subject so much and that is because he's trying to delay his inevitable rejection. He doesn't like hurting people's feelings and Combeferre has seen him gently turn people down countless times over the years. He knows how terrible it makes Courfeyrac feel.

"I'm stalling," Courfeyrac admits, like he can hear Combeferre's thoughts. "I'm sorry. I keep thinking that there must be a perfect way of saying this and honestly, you'd think I would have come up with it by now. You're going to have to forgive me for this being so messy."

Combeferre braces himself, giving Courfeyrac his best smile. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I was in Third Year," Courfeyrac begins. "That whole year was just a blur because of the Triwizard Tournament, you remember that? But none of that even held a candle to this. We had the Yule Ball and I don't even remember who I took. All I remember is my heart stopping when the most beautiful boy in the year walked up to me and asked me for a dance. Like it was no big deal. I said that people would stare, and he said…"

"Let them stare," Combeferre finishes softly. He manages a small smile, averting his gaze. "I was hardly the most beautiful boy of the year."

"I was biased," Courfeyrac replies. " _Am_ biased. I've always been biased when it comes to you. We danced all night and I don't even remember _when_ I fell in love with you, but I know I loved you when we finally stopped." 

Combeferre squeezes Courfeyrac's hand tightly, turning back to him. When he sees the smile on Courfeyrac's face, it's impossible not to return it. 

"I love you." He hasn't said it in so many words just yet, and Combeferre figures that he should. "Ever since that ball."

"I love you," Courfeyrac replies. "I… thought you didn't return my feelings, because I was being so obvious about them and you never said anything."

"Here I thought I was being obvious," Combeferre mutters. "Turns out we were both just being idiots. I'm sorry that it took this much for me to say it to you."

"I'm sorry that I scared you." Courfeyrac is leaning into him, clearly giving Combeferre the space to back away if he wants. Instead, Combeferre closes the distance, pressing their lips together firmly. Courfeyrac's hands frame his face, holding on even as they pull apart. "I love you so much. I'm going to try and never scare you like that again."

It's not an absolute promise, because Courfeyrac can't make those, but this is good enough. All Combeferre needs is for Courfeyrac to try.

They kiss again, their arms wrapping around each other as Courfeyrac moves across to settle in Combeferre's lap. Their lips are curved into smiles against each other and it's all Combeferre can do to grin, to hold onto Courfeyrac and remind himself that he's _here_ , that he's fine, that they're together. 

That's all he needs for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fear by OneRepublic


End file.
